With past love fled and turned to stone?
Shall not the springtide music's roll
Mock withered joys and sting the soul?
Not in the heart embalmed in love
Transported from the worlds above,
Nor seasons, no, nor else can bring
Heartaches where only God is king.
That soul an endless spring enjoys
Where life the will of God employs.
He 'mid the fields of bliss may tread,